In the Twilight of Ruin and Salvation
by Night Strider
Summary: For Fuu, another more complex quest is about to ensue. Ten years after the breaking of the party, she realizes that reality leaves her no option but to restart a journey, this time, in search of her old-time companions. Fuu's POV. On-going.


**In the Twilight of Ruin and Salvation**

Disclaimer: I don't own Samurai Champloo.

Summary: For Fuu, another more complex quest is about to ensue. Ten years after the breaking of the party, she realizes that reality leaves her no option but to restart a journey, this time, in search of her old-time companions. Fuu's POV. On-going.

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**Chapter I**: _Jin of the Swift Sword_

He was like the lone wolf in search of the unchanging night, where in its very stillness the only sense that prevailed is abandonment itself. There was too much hunger in each of his every glance to see anything else and his words, often vaguer than his intentions, only left the profoundest depth I had yet to fathom.

"I have to go." His voice would linger with the wind as the coldness slowly consumed its meaning.

He stood up then; there was always something so final about every movement he used to make. He was the one creature on this planet to know nothing about the culture of bidding farewell and when he did take the step, it would surprise even the stone-cold path we'd endlessly walked on as constant companions.

I followed him with my eyes as he disappeared into the thickets. It was hard to remember the shade of the skies that cast its shadows over the landscape; all I saw was the diminishing figure of Jin, its one-way journey to I would never know where anymore, whose purpose was soaked in blood and who knows, tears. I stood unmoving in the dark, not waiting for his return as much as actually trying to absorb each moment that tread closer and closer toward something as infinite and imminent as his separation from me. How long I'd teach myself to be accustomed to his absence, I had no idea. I didn't even know if I sincerely wanted to get used to it.

I knew Jin as a swordsman of little compassion, but when he and Mugen joined me in my crusade he would become a vagrant. His history was cleverly concealed such that the degree of his infamy would never quite cross me in those days. The danger he logically posed to others was unknown, though in my youth and stubbornness I doubt if it would count for much even if I learned of the heinous crime he had been hunted for. He never smiled; his pleasure, although unexpressed, seemed to always concentrate itself on the blade he'd rather die than to part with. His mystery would remain like a thick fog that permitted no space for viewing, his privacy was invariably his second skin. What scared me about him was never his potential for murder, but his indifference. Just his cool, quiet to-hell-with-it indifference.

Yet, in all of that, I was too secure in him, too selfish to suspect the deadly mischief of his past, too happy to understand. In what I would describe as the most dramatic manner, I finally came to learn about his deeds, "crimes of epic proportions" as others had preferred put it. It would be hard to quantify the victims of his massacres; doubtless the rumors exaggerated the simpler reality he held and robbed him of excuses to save himself. He just didn't care much.

But even then I didn't shudder or in any case scuttle away from him as fast and far as I could, which would've been the wise and popular choice. Instead, I insisted to keep the party together, me in my stiff kimono, Mugen in his dusty shirt and Jin with his spotless blade. He had a promise to keep; I had a tortuous road to traverse, which I couldn't do without him. Whatever people might think about him, whatever the future might set in store for me, whatever price I had to pay, I knew I had to keep him with me, close to me, always with me.

A decade would've burned the bridge; the lack of communication would've widened the gap. But not here where countless memories haunt every square inch of space. People have told me to give up the search, it's useless to run after a fugitive without meaning to benefit from the reward. Bounty hunters do that, but never young ladies who think themselves fulfilled. For a long time, I thought I would be fulfilled. Having ultimately found my father, the journey should've ended there. At that time there was no way to know what an ending entails, no way to guess that it could be just another start for a longer, more complex race toward a more difficult goal.

Humans are only always at the mercy of what they feel. That's the biggest lesson I learned, so when the three of us went our separate ways I had no option but to move forward. I wasn't tough enough to let go of everything that happened between us; I wasn't strong enough to let myself forget all that, how in their weird fashion they kept their promise, although always stalling, probably consistently on the verge of turning back, but always, always, on the rescue just in the nick of time… how they actually far exceeded returning the favor, in retrospect. They were the ones who gave me back everything I lost, my parents, my home, my faith in living, they gave me back everything. What choice then, in the light of these things, do the circumstances leave me? I have none, but to look for them, without whom my identity stands unreasoned.

There was suddenly a soft rustle in the air as the wind brings back Jin's voice that night, "I have to go." I replied in what sounded like a quieter melody, "Goodbye, Jin." I remember the vivid detail of his movements, along with the emptiness that quickly succeeded the exchange. For all the world knows, the continents had fallen apart in his absence, the shadows swallowing what would be my last memory of him. A blank.

Though in my mind, he is always Jin of the Swift Sword.

TBC

Afterword: Uh, I suppose I owe it to everyone to talk about Mugen in the next chapter. I haven't written anything decent in more than a year. Give me time to regain the touch. Okay? Thanks for reading.


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